


Somnambulist

by tenuous_pteradatyl



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Non-Consensual Groping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:58:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2082975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenuous_pteradatyl/pseuds/tenuous_pteradatyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waylon starts sleepwalking, and ends up in bed next to Eddie only to learn something interesting while he’s there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somnambulist

Waylon didn’t dream much. Even before the horrors of the asylum had taken every dream he had, and warped and mutated it into a screaming nightmare, he had never dreamt much. His dreams before the engine were usually of the banal and the mundane. He dreamt about parking tickets, missing important deadlines, and endless sequences of codes. Lisa had always laughed affectionately when she sometimes asked what he had dreamt about. “You are so boring”, she teased “It’s only a matter of time before it rubs off on me”, she said ruffling his hair. “I can’t be that boring. You married me after all”, he would say, and they would both laugh about it for a moment before proceeding to talk about other things. He would be thankful for such a boring dream now, any kind of dream, but none had come. Ever since Gluskin had captured him, and been hiding him away his nights have been totally devoid of dreams. 

He wishes, almost prays for a dream now, even one with an endless line of code would be a welcome improvement. He needs it, he realizes. He needs some kind of relief, any kind of escape from the horrible reality he’s had to deal with for the past 2 weeks. There have been nights though where he feels close to a breakthrough, where he’s tantalizingly close to dreaming but so many times what starts out as a pleasant dream quickly devolves into a twisted nightmare. The kind that wakes him up in a cold sweat, where he lays back slowly on his cot still trembling, his eyes watering, and he tries to rock himself back to sleep. It’s those kind of wretched nights that almost make him wish he were at least sleeping in the same room with Gluskin. Maybe the sound of his breathing would put him at ease, like Lisa’s breathing used to do for him, but he quickly disregards those traitorous thoughts chalking it up to his lack of rest, and ultimately he always manages to fall back to sleep. 

That’s why when he finally does have a good dream it’s a revelation. He had been tossing, and turning for what felt like hours when he finally got comfortable enough to drift off into sleep, and when he did he finally had a dream. It’s a scene that’s happened countless times, he’s hunched over his laptop slaving away over endless lines of coding looking for errors. She comes up behind him and blows in his ear, as he always did he gets startled and lets out a loud yelp. She pulls away laughing, bringing her manicured hands up to cover her mouth “How is it that I do this every night at the exact same time, and you still freak out?”, she asks between giggles. 

“How is that my developers have 15 different people writing code for them, and they still can’t get one of them to spot for errors?”, he asks wiping his face with his hand, and resuming his typing. “Aww poor baby”, she coos teasingly, slinging an arm around his hunched shoulders “Bad night?”, she asks. 

“1500 errors”, he replies “And somehow within one incredibly long line”. “Aww”, she says, and kisses him on the cheek “Well it’s already past 3 you should get some sleep. The code will be there in the morning”, she says, and gently takes his hands in hers, moving them off the keyboard. He smiles at her, and sighs as they walk hand in hand off to their bedroom. The kids are already asleep, they have been for hours, safely tucked away under their blankets, their night light steadfastly glowing in the dark. Waylon looks in on them briefly before joining Lisa in their own bedroom. They’ve been sharing a room for awhile now and although there were some fights, and some death matches over legos, and other toys they’ve managed to make it work. He kisses them both lightly on the cheek. They’re almost too old for kisses, they’ve gone to wiping them off in embarrassment. But they always come to him, as he starts off his lonely night in front of the computer to quickly kiss him goodnight before running off to bed, presumably to fight about whether to turn the night light on or not. 

Lisa is already in bed smiling at him as he comes in, and shrugs off his shirt and strips down to his boxers, and climbs in next to her. They kiss for a few long sweet minutes before she rolls over on her side, and he throws his arm over her “Goodnight honey”, she says sleepily. “Goodnight baby”, he says affectionately with a wide smile on his face. Just as he falls asleep in the dream he awakes in the real world, for a few blissful seconds he doesn’t remember where he is, and in the darkness he thinks that perhaps he’s really in bed with her again, her warmth and weight by his side a welcome and familiar thing. 

But as he opens his eyes, and looks around the room he remembers all too well where he is. There aren’t any pictures of them adorning the wall, just peeling paint, and the remainders of some poor victim. There aren’t any bay windows letting the moonlight stream in, only the utilitarian ones with the stark black of steel bars cutting like a knife across the barren, and parched landscape outside. He knows where he is but for a brief moment he just wants to forget, to retreat back into that safe, and quiet place but he knows he can’t. He holds back an anguished sob as he tries to settle himself back to sleep. Perhaps he can have another dream, maybe he can pick up where he left off. But as he lays back down, and pulls the raggedy sheets over himself he looks around again. He hadn’t noticed, so caught up in his own thoughts, but this isn’t his room. 

Even in the short time he’s spent here he’s had plenty of time to memorize his room, familiarize himself with every crack, every exposed wire, every unidentified stain decorating the walls. He feels his muscles seize up with panic. “How did I get here?”, he whispers, and he can hear the slight tremor of fear in his voice. Maybe Gluskin dragged him in here, perhaps he was growing impatient, and didn’t want to be parted from his “fiancé” even in sleep. He looks around the room frantically for any sign of him, although it’s hard, it’s even darker in here than in his own room. But then he hears something. Something that under any other situation he wouldn’t think much of, but here it’s like a shot blowing through him. It’s a snore. He looks to his right, and then to his left, and that’s when he sees the awful truth. He’s in bed with the Groom. 

He scrambles off the bed as the realization hits him, and drops to the floor feeling violently nauseous, and horribly dirty. If he knew where they were he would run off to the showers, and scrub himself till his skin was raw, and aching. He doesn’t know how, or why it happened, but he ended up sleeping next to the Groom, his arm curled protectively around him just like he was doing in his dream with Lisa. Maybe Gluskin dragged him here, maybe he brought himself here, either way he feels sickened, and utterly forsaken. Just when he finally thought he had a way to escape, no matter how fleeting, it’s instantly ruined. The worst part is that his own mind, his own body may have betrayed him. He can’t ignore it. The possibility that he sleepwalked, and cuddled up next to Gluskin is very fresh in his mind, like an open festering wound. The thought makes him want to tear at his hair. “Why? Why can’t I just have one thing one thing that doesn’t get ruined by this place?”, he says in an angry whisper. If he wasn’t concerned about waking the bastard he would start pounding the walls in a rage, but instead he balls his hands into fists, and shoves them down deep in his pockets, biting his tongue to hold back angry exclamations, and exasperated shouts. 

Unsteadily, he gets to his feet but not before taking a moment to look at Gluskin, his eyes tracing the outline of his sleeping form. “He’s so vulnerable like this”, he thinks to himself, if he had something, anything sharp enough, he would just end it. Do everyone in this horrible place a favor, and just end the crazy bastard. He could even use his own hands. But even as he thinks it, and begins to feel a strange combination of reluctance and eagerness to stumble forward to attempt it, he sees that he’s starting to wake up so he quickly turns, and stumbles down the hallway to his room. For the next few days he’s incredibly nervous as he falls asleep. Secretly hoping that it’s Gluskin doing this, and not himself. Hoping if it is him that he at least won’t end up waking up next to Gluskin again, embracing him. 

He cringes with disgust at the thought. It’s bad enough that he has to play along with his delusions, but that level of intimate contact has thankfully been absent from their game so far. He pulls the rough blanket over himself hoping that it will stay that way. That night he dreams again. Although this time it’s not so much a dream as it is a nightmare. He’s not under Gluskin’s watchful gaze anymore. He’s once again loose in the asylum speeding down the empty, and blood stained hallways with only the loud buzzing whir of the chainsaw to keep him going. He hears Manera’s incessant cries for food, and he urges his legs to runs faster. He wakes up running, running down the hallway to Gluskin’s room, and he feels a strange mixture of relief, and anguish. So he really is his worst enemy, he had sleepwalked to Gluskin’s room the other night, and cuddled up next to him. He’s sure if the bastard had woken up while he was still lying next to him he would have been delighted to have his future wife sleeping next to him.He can almost hear his voice, mockingly sweet “Oh darling. You’re impatient for our wedding night, aren’t you?”, he would ask, and Waylon would have no other choice but to agree, and then probably be stuck there in his arms for the rest of the night. 

As he hobbles back to his own room he can’t help but feel disgusted with himself. He had buttered up Gluskin for a reason, he had lied to him about his own feelings so that he could get this level of separation between them. He needed to have a few walls between them, keep the level of physical contact to a bare minimum, and now he’s unconsciously throwing that all away, his own body is seeking him out, and he can’t stand it. The next few nights he falls asleep dreading where he’s going to wake up, but always in the back of his mind he has a fleeting hope that maybe things will be better tonight, and that he’ll stay in his own bed. But no such luck. Each night he ends up sleeping next to Gluskin, and too many times they’ve been entangled together. Waylon with his arm over him, Gluskin clutching on to him in his sleep his head buried in his chest as if he’s hiding from something, Waylon sometimes settled on top of him. Each time it makes him want to shout in anger, and tear at his skin but all he manages to do is roll off the bed, and stumble away feeling more ashamed and sickened with himself. 

As the days go on, and the times he’s waking up in a bed not his own increases, his guilt increases as well. He feels like he’s been unfaithful, like maybe deep down in his subconscious he needs to be near someone, he can’t cope with being alone, so this is what his mind is doing to deal with it. He knows he’ s probably being too hard on himself, he hasn’t kissed Gluskin or done anything truly intimate with him but he can’t help it. It’s all he thinks about, even when the Groom comes by to check on him his mind is elsewhere, focused on previous nights where they’ve been pressed up together, practically spooning each other unbeknownst to him. “It’s nauseating”, he thinks to himself continuously as he falls asleep, like some kind of mantra. Like if he thinks it long enough it might just save him from what’s going to happen, but it never does. After a few more nights of waking up in Gluskin’s arms he grows so desperate that he decides not to sleep anymore.

At first it isn’t so hard to stay awake. He’s always been a bit of an insomniac, dabbling every now and then with sleep deprivation for the sake of getting his work done. Since he had entered the corporation he had been getting more regular hours of rest, so the first few days were a little harder but not unbearable. But as the 3rd day rolled around he was already beginning to hear things. Voices that weren’t his own, whispering disheartening words to him in the dark. By the 4th day he was hallucinating. It started off slowly, he would see things out of the corner of his eye, shadowy figures peering in on him from the doorway which would quickly vanish as he looked with his full vision. Orbs of colorful light floating in the dark of his room, soon he even began to see his family. 

He’d see his boys running through the hallways playing, in his state he would think they were real, and would end up following them into one of those hollow rooms only to have them vanish, and then have to stand there trying to deal with the unbearable sadness. He saw them, and Lisa too everywhere he looked. They would stand there gazing at him with bright eyes, and smiling faces, and although he wished to walk over to them, to embrace them, he knew they weren’t real so he ignored them, and each time he felt like a little bit of his sanity was slipping away. 

With his grip on his own sanity waning, he’s not even sure if he’s really awake most of the time. He’d sit there on his bed for hours, ramming his fist into the wall to see if he’d feel any pain. The one way he can be sure he’s truly awake is by the ever present pain aching in every part of his body, at least that what he reasons with himself. So by the 5th day, when he’s sitting there with his hands bruised and bloodied, and the obvious dark circles rimming his eyes, Gluskin finally speaks up. “Darling”, he says one afternoon as he’s sewing the remainder of a veil for him. Waylon’s nearby thumbing the fabric with an absent expression on his face, his eyes drooping. What’s wrong? You look so exhausted, are you not sleeping well?”, he asks looking genuinely concerned. Maybe it’s that look of concern that he knows can’t be real, maybe it’s all the pent up anger, and the lack of sleep that makes him say it, but for once he doesn’t hold his tongue. “It’s because of you that I’m not sleeping well”, he says, too exhausted to care about the beating that’s sure to come on the heels of his less than kind words to his “fiancé”. 

Immediately Gluskin stops what he’s doing, his hand held aloft in mid-stitch, Waylon’s mind registers that something’s wrong but he’s beyond the point of caring. “What did you say?”, Gluskin asks, his tone slowly slipping into anger, each syllable laced with his growing rage. Waylon just wants to fall asleep but he answers wearily “You heard me”, his voice cracking with tiredness, and barely hidden anger. He hears the crack of the slap before he feels or sees it. It’s a harsh feeling amidst the haze of half-sleep that he’s been drifting through for the past few days, and he lands on the floor seconds later, the concrete an almost welcome thing, he’s so tired he could fall asleep right here. The Groom stands overs him yelling something he hadn’t heard at first, too caught up in his own pain. “You little slut!”, he yells picking up his limp body only to hit him across the face again. “All the things I do for you, all for you, and this is how you treat me?”, he asks “Am I not good enough for you? Is that it? I save you from this wretched place, and this is how you act? I should’ve left you where I found you!”

The Groom’s flown into a rage again. It happens every now, and then but Waylon always manages to sweet talk himself back into his good graces, he always seems to be able to calm him down. But this time is harder, he’s just barely clinging to consciousness, and he can taste the sharp tang of his own blood in his mouth but self preservation wins out for a moment. “Sweetheart”, he says trying to sit up but failing “I didn’t mean it like that” he says with as much sweetness as he can muster he’s so close to blacking out, he can feel his mind growing hazy, and darkness is fogging the edges of his vision but he continues on. “All I meant was…that it’s so hard…sleeping without y-you. I have bad dreams sometimes-“, and before he can continue the world simply turns black, and he’s gone.

—————-

He’s back in his house again. The familiar smells, and sounds wash over him like a wave. He’s so overjoyed, even though he’s looking over line after line of monotonous code he can’t help but feel content. Lisa comes in humming some tune off the radio, it’s oddly familiar but he can’t quite place it. “Working as usual I see”, she says twirling the car keys off her finger, giving him a quick kiss on the lips “You know it”, he says with a smile. “Does coding really make you that happy?” she asks exaggerating his smile. Oh he’s missed this! The gentle teasing they’ve always shared between them, the way she acts as his anchor making sure he gets up long enough to stretch, to eat and get rest. 

He leaves the code for a moment, and turns around to pull her into a tight hug, she hugs him back after a moment. “Honey, not that I’m complaining but why are you hugging me so tight?”, she asks her breath caressing his neck. He sighs before answering her “I just love you”, he says “I miss you, and the boys when you’re gone, and I never want to take you for granted”, he explains burying his head in her neck. She raises one arm up to stroke his head while the other tightens around his middle “Hey, what’s wrong?”, she asks, and he feels so close to tears standing there in her arms, his voice cracks and shakes a bit as he answers her. “I’ve just realized some things…it just hit me that there’s going to be a time when I won’t always be able to do this. I know we fight sometimes, and you get tired because I can’t be more openminded but I never want to lose sight of this. I don’t want to lose sight of what really matters”, he says almost feeling out of breath. 

She nods her head against his chest. “I understand”, she says, and he can tell just by the timbre in her voice that she knows exactly what he means. His subconscious seems to deem this a good resolution for the night, and he wakes up. Waking up is a slow and painful process as always, although this time it’s physically as well as mentally painful. To be ripped away from something so sweet, and transported back to this waking nightmare is too much to handle. There are tears in his eyes as he opens them, and he can feel the remainders of dried tears on his face. The fog of sleep is slowly fading away to reveal every pain he suffered before losing consciousness. He can still feel the dull ache of the beating from Gluskin in his jaw, and there’s still a slight taste of blood in his mouth but at least he’s still alive, and intact below the waist. He looks around wondering if he’s in his own room, and is sad to see that he isn’t. He supposes the crazy bastard had pity on him, and laid him out in his room after the little beating he gave him. 

“Where is the bastard?”, he thinks looking around, he tries to sit up only to be stopped by Gluskin’s arm slung over his chest as he’s curled up next to him. His face is so close that he can smell his putrid breath, and he’s sickened that he’s so close to him. That after that dream he has to wake up to this so he tries to pull away. It’s a valiant effort but Gluskin clutches onto him “No”, he whispers “You have to stay”, he says pulling him closer. Waylon isn’t sure if he’s still asleep or not, but he assumes so since his eyes are still tightly closed. Any other night he’d be more willing to resign himself to his fate but not after everything that’s happened. He tries to tear himself free again, maybe move his arm off first, and then untangle himself from the ragged, and filthy sheets. But Gluskin just holds onto him tighter his arm some kind of immovable force keeping him pinned to the cot. He lets out an exasperated sigh “This is all your fault”, he says in a low whisper, unable to hold back the bile, and malice he’s been trying so hard to keep in for the past 2 weeks. 

“Do you have any idea what you’re putting me through? No, I guess the real question is do you even care? Would you even care? I’m guessing not seeing how you killed all those other guys.They didn’t deserve that, and I don’t deserve this either. To be tied to you, and held prisoner here while my family is waiting for me out there”. His eyes sting with tears, and he looks at Gluskin’s sleeping face, and any pity he had for the man is slowly burning away. He sneers at him before going on “That’s right, my family. Something you’re never going to get”, he says with as much disdain as he can pour into his voice. He knows the Groom can’t hear him, if he could he’d probably be dead already but it’s oddly satisfying to say it out loud not just in his head. He can’t help but feel a little vindictive. It’s been so hard holding back all this time, having to play the role of the adoring “fiancé”, coming closer and closer to playing house with this sick bastard. It gets so hard to remember why he’s doing it, who he’s really playing this game for. It’s for his family, the ones in his dreams, the ones that he remembers so well there but can barely seem to remember in the waking world. It’s for them that he goes through this ordeal, and lies and smiles his fake smiles, not for this man. Never for him. 

He’s too tired to rachet up anymore hatred for the moment. It wasn’t until he got locked up in this place that he realized how time consuming hating someone was. Instead he just lays there, Gluskin’s arm still draped over him, he turns his eyes up to the ceiling, trying to will himself back into sleep. If he has to be stuck sleeping next to this madman the least he can do is have a good dream to make up for it. But after looking over every crack, and layer of peeling paint on the ceiling he realizes he probably won’t be falling asleep any time soon, if at all. He almost envies the Groom, despite all that he’s seen, despite all the horrors he’s had to have witnessed in this place he’s somehow managed to fall sleep every night. 

“And sleep hard”, he thinks to himself, he’s barely moved or woken up once. But just as he thinks it, something happens, Gluskin’s face contorts a bit, whatever’s happening in his dream is definitely not good if his face is anything to go off. “No, not this again”, he whispers “Just leave me alone”, he says, and if possible he curls up even tighter next to Waylon, almost assuming the fetal position. His free hand clutching Waylon’s shirt as if he might pull it off, he’s not sure what’s happening he must be having some kind of nightmare he thinks. For a moment he’s astonished that someone like him would have nightmares after everything he’s done, but it seems to be the case because he continues to talking in his sleep. “No, I don’t want to do this anymore Dad, it hurts”, he says, and recognition runs through Waylon like a jolt of lightning. He had picked it up somewhere, in one of those abandoned rooms with the upturned furniture, it was one of many scattered files with a few patient reports, and one of them spoke about Gluskin. 

About his past, about his childhood, about his father, and he feels his stomach twist, and churn. It’s not an excuse. It never can be an excuse for anything he did inside or outside of the asylum but no one deserves to live like that, no one deserves to grow up like that. He even thinks about his own boys, and what he would do if someone tried to pull that with them. “I’d kill the bastard”, he thinks savagely, and he feels an odd bit of sympathy for the man laying next to him. The man who’s still curled up defensively, probably reliving those horrors even after all this time. He’s clutching on to him for dear life now, almost hugging him, and Waylon wonders if maybe he should just wake him up. But he thinks better of it, Gluskin may not have brought him here, and he might mistake his presence in his bed for some kind of consent to get closer. So instead he just lays there under him, listening to every terrified whisper, and every new transgression made bare, lying through Gluskin’s old anguished memories, and every soft muffled sob. 

As he lays there listening, his anger, that maddening anger that sometimes felt like it was eroding away his own sanity. That anger that slowly had been slipping into hatred, and had made his voice drop low, and guttural as he spouted out insults at the man next to him, begins to slip away. As much as he’d like to say he doesn’t care at all, that he has no feeling in the matter he can’t lie to himself. To hate you have be emotionally invested, and ever since he was captured he’s been caught up emotionally. He’s always been second guessing himself, lying to himself, always confused and doubting. Too many times he’s been on the brink of being emotionally manipulated, and twisted to fit the Groom’s desires, he’s even been close to doing the same thing to him. But for once it’s clear in his mind, he feels sympathy for Gluskin. Begrudgingly, but it’s there. How could he not feel even a shred of pity for the man when he’s just inadvertently heard a fraction of what he went through? 

He’s laid there listening to his cries for help, his angry shouts to be left alone, felt his bruising punches on his chest, and the kicks to his legs, and shins as if he were his abuser. It makes him feel a slight stab of guilt for a brief moment. That he had just unleashed a wave of harsh words just moments before, but even now he still knows the truth. This is no innocent man sleeping next to him, this is a murderer and a maniac. “But even so”, he thinks to himself, it’s still hard not to feel bad for him, even knowing all the horrible things he’s done. He’s still whispering out a trembling plea for help every few minutes, and although he’s mostly stopped moving he’s still holding firmly on to Waylon for support, as if he’s a security blanket that might be yanked away any moment. For a moment Waylon believes it’s all over, that is until he looks down only to notice a few stray tears slip out from under his closed eyelids. Waylon feels his resolve break a bit at the sight of that. He can almost hear it break, snap like cut piano wire in his mind. 

As sickening as it is, and as much as part of him would like to ignore it, he can’t just let the poor bastard keep crying, not while he’s stuck here watching it happen. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep that’s getting to him, perhaps it’s some kind of fatherly instinct that urges him to soothe tears away. But whatever the reason, he allows himself to care if only for the moment. He moves his one free arm, the one Gluskin hasn’t managed to pin down, and as gently as he can he wipes the tears away. He draws his hand back quickly, not really liking the rough feel of his skin under his fingers, it feels too intimate to be doing this but he supposes this whole situation is too intimate considering they aren’t really “bride”, and “groom”. But he relents as he sees a few more tears slide down the Groom’s face, he wipes them away quickly, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. The situation is slowly growing more awkward by the moment, but even so he can’t bring himself to leave just yet. Not when the other man is still violently shaking next to him. Despite all he’s done, all the things he’s had to suffer through, he can’t help but feel something dangerously close to tenderness for the man. 

That’s why his fingers don’t feel as pained when he manages to pry Gluskin’s hands off his uniform. He doesn’t feel as nauseated when he throws his arm around the Groom’s shoulders, laying his hand on his back, and patting him as gently as he can bring himself to. He’s sure that this feeling will quickly fade away, and by tomorrow he’ll probably be hating himself for letting this opportunity slip through his fingers. But all he can manage to do in his sleep deprived state is lay there next to him, stroking his back with sore and calloused fingers. They lay like that for awhile. Gluskin still shaking from time to time in his arms, Waylon looking out the window trying to memorize the outline of the hillside just beyond the bushes. He forgets for a moment that it’s Gluskin that he’s trying to soothe. 

His eyes droop as he thinks about how he used to do this for his own sons, they would run into his, and Lisa’s bedroom yelling about some monster that they had just barely escaped in their dreams. Other times they would get sick in the wee hours of the night, as young children often do, and they would come in to their room clutching stuffed animals, and complaining of aching stomachs, or sore throats. They would sit on the couch side by side, one of them curled up next to him, him with a firm steady hand rested on their back, massaging soft little circles to try to ease some of the pain. 

His hand acts out the memory for him, and before he even realizes it he’s massaging Gluskin’s back just as tenderly as he would with his own family. It seems to work because Gluskin has finally stopped shaking, his cries for help have ceased, and his wild kicks and punches have stopped. In their place Gluskin is sleeping soundly. Waylon is half-asleep by now but he thinks that maybe he should still try to leave, although staying here and falling back asleep is a very alluring option. But before he can even decide what to do he feels movement next to him. He looks over to see that Gluskin is awake, his bloodshot eyes staring intently up at him. Waylon’s hand is still resting on his back, smoothing out slow circles on his skin, and for a long moment all they can seem to do is stare back at each other. “Darling…”, Gluskin trails off “What-“. But Waylon cuts him off “Just go back to sleep”, he says somewhat hoarsely as he continues to massage his back. He doesn’t stop until he hears him drop back off to sleep, and when he does he gets up, and makes the long walk down the darkened hallway to his room, a smile trying to work it’s way onto his face.


End file.
